Last week we stopped at a motel
on the way to somewhere else. I booked
the room; you waited in the car.
When I came out you’d gone.
I did not come to where I knew you’d be
for fear of barging in on
some private grief,
one moment needed amongst the crowd
of other moments set to drown you.
When I thought it long enough
I found you rocking gently on the swing,
your limp feet dragging in the dust,
your eyes practising nothing.
You told me travel changes, you said,
that it moves you from then to now.
But when will it change?
The problem is not this restless movement
but what we find perpetually
at the end:
these empty swings, these static spaces,
reminding you of what,
and when,
and how.
Darren Coxon teaches English in an international school in Switzerland. He has had poetry published in Iota and The New Writer, and articles in the TES and the RPS journal.
3 Responses to “TRAVEL CHANGES • by Darren Coxon”
Comments
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November 30th, 2008 at 9:12 am
Excellent poem, Darren. I just love the sound of it. And this:
“You told me travel changes, you said,
that it moves you from then to now.
But when will it change?
The problem is not this restless movement
but what we find perpetually
at the end:”
Great,
Best,
Robin
December 1st, 2008 at 11:14 am
A tremendously moving poem, Mark. Thank you.
December 3rd, 2008 at 8:44 am
I especially enjoyed the final stanza.